


The Only Time

by angermissmgt



Series: That sinking feeling in the Sinking City [2]
Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6339268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angermissmgt/pseuds/angermissmgt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story mainly follows Trista as she builds her life in New Orleans. Sequel/spin off of Happy Birthday, Pogo!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Time

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any part of Marilyn Manson, or any members, past or present. I make no money from writing anything, like, ever.
> 
> Sexual/adult content, strong language, drug and alcohol use/abuse.

The morning after Stephen’s birthday bash started out much too bright for Trista’s liking… Her head was throbbing and her stomach churned with the slightest movement. Of course, Stephen was up with his alarm, and on the phone with Brian first thing, asking for a ride into the studio and acting as though everything was normal; and, it might as well have been for him, he acted as if a hangover was nothing more than an annoyance, much like a fly buzzing in his ear… Trista couldn’t help but be somewhat envious of his tolerance- not of alcohol, he’d gotten just as fucked up as she had the night before; but of his attitude that it didn’t bother him, even though he drank his coffee much slower than normal and ate dry toast after getting off the phone.  
Stephen walked into the living room with a mug of coffee and put in on the table in front of Trista, “Here, the caffeine will help with your head ache.”   
Trista sat up slowly, her head swimming as she reached for her glasses and put them on. She picked up the mug, but put it back down as soon as the scent hit her nose; normally, the smell of coffee was a comfort, but after a late night of drinking and doing a couple of bumps of Jeordie’s coke, her stomach roiled at the suggestion of ingestion, “I may be sick…”  
Stephen smirked, “I still have a joint, that’ll make both of us feel better.” Trista nodded, grateful for anything that would lessen her nausea, as Stephen pulled the joint out of the cigarette pack on the table, “Oh, there was two more in there; you can smoke the other later today, while I’m at the studio.”  
Stephen lit the joint as Trista looked at him, “You’re being strangely kind this morning…”  
He passed the joint to her as he sat down next to her on the couch, “I had a great night last night, may be a little hungover, but I’m not going to let that get me down.”  
Trista handed the joint back to him after taking a puff, “I thought you were staying home today.”  
Stephen shook his head as he took a deep drag and handed her the joint, smoke streaming from his mouth as he told her, “Naw, I’d get restless just sitting here… That, and I know how you are when you’re hungover; I’m not sticking around for a pouty and whiny cunt-fest.”   
“Fuck you, Bier.”  
Stephen gave Trista a broad grin, “Hey now, I said I wasn’t putting up with that!” He took another big hit of the joint and passed it to her, “What are your plans today?” Trista just glared at him as she took a series of small puffs, “I’ll take that as nothing.”  
Trista handed Stephen the joint and picked up the coffee mug, taking a tentative sip, “If I feel up to it, I may do some job hunting…”  
Stephen gave her a small smile, “You don’t have to do that today, ya know.”  
Trista took another small drink of the coffee, thankful that her stomach had stopped it’s angry churning, “I’m ready to end my time as a recluse… Either I find a job in the next couple weeks, or I’m having my mom wire me money for bus fare back to Fort Lauderhell.”  
Stephen’s playful grin turned into a small scowl, “You don’t have to- “  
“Yes, I do, Stephen; I can’t stay here forever, I have to get back to my life at some point. I don’t want to grovel back to my parents, but I can’t live on your couch indefinitely; I need to get back to work and do normal shit again.”  
Stephen put what was left of the joint into the ashtray, “Give it a month. I want you here; if after a month, you haven’t gotten a job, I’ll give you bus fare back to your folks. You can pay me back after you get back on your feet.” Trista looked away, with tears welling up in her eyes and Stephen wrapped his arm around her shoulder, “C’mon, don’t cry… It’s weird for me seeing a tough bitch like you get all misty eyed.”  
Trista elbowed him in the ribs lightly and turned back to him, still with some tears in her eyes, “You know better…”   
Stephen grinned and put his hands up, “I surrender!” He got a more serious look on his face as his arm went back around her, in an act meant to comfort her, “I mean it, a month; you’re not ready to go back yet, and I’m not ready for you to leave… You being here has helped me in a few ways too; if you leave in a couple weeks, my life will return to the hellhole that this city is.” She looked at him, her green eyes meeting his gray-blue and he jostled her some, causing her to groan as her stomach protested at the sudden movement, “Oh, sorry…” He grinned at her again, “A month; I will pester you until you bend to my will, woman!”  
Trista rolled her eyes, but a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, “Fine, a month; but only because you are a man of your word when it comes to acts of torture.” There was a knock on the door and Stephen stood and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, causing Trista to scowl, “What the fuck, Bier?”  
Stephen pulled out a couple twenties, “For cab fare, or lunch or whatever…” He held the money out to her and met her glare for glare, “Take the goddamned money so that I can head to the studio.”  
Trista rolled her eyes again, this time without the smile, and took the money from him, “Fine… Any requests for dinner?”  
Stephen headed for the door, “Don’t worry about it, I’m hoping it’ll be a late night. Good luck out there today, toots.”  
Stephen opened the door to reveal Brian, who was grinning with his oversized shades on, “You’re ready?” Stephen nodded and stepped out into the world and Brian chuckled at a disheveled Trista, “You look like shit.”  
Trista took a gulp of the coffee Stephen had given her and tightened the blanket around her shoulders, “Fuck outta here, Weiner.” Stephen laughed from behind Brian, making Trista crack a smile, “See ya later Bier!”  
Brian shook his head, “Always a brat when you’re hung over…” He looked to Stephen, “Now I see why you wanted to come into the studio today Pogo; who the hell would want to sit here all day with that?”  
Stephen reached around Brian to pull closed the door, “See ya tonight, toots!”  
After they’d left, Trista got up, shakily, and locked the door; then walked to the bathroom to take a piss. When she passed the mirror, she made faces at herself; she’d never washed off her makeup the night before, and her hair was a mess of tangles from fitful, drunken sleep. When she was done using the toilet, she washed her hands then her face; the cool water shocking her awake more than half a mug of Stephen’s strong coffee had done. Once she was done with that, she scowled at her reflection, her hair would be a pain to deal with. She grabbed her hairbrush and walked back to the front room so that she could drink some more coffee while she took her time untangling her mop of dishwater blonde hair, telling herself, “The first thing I’m doing when I get a job is getting a haircut and a dye job…”  
Trista was relatively slow about getting around that morning, having some toast with her second cup of coffee since her stomach was settling as time passed. She nibbled on her toast while looking through the yellow pages again, that way she could figure out a course of action for that day; one of the screen printing shops was within walking distance, so that would be her first stop of the day. The thought of going out, and trying to become a member of the world again helped her to feel better, but in a different way; since the night she’d left everything behind her: her apartment, her decent job, the friends who still lived in southern Florida, her family…. Well, to be frank, staying had offered her less hope, but running had made her feel cowardly; and much less than the independent person she knew herself to be. Stephen had told her that everyone needs help sometimes, so there was nothing to be ashamed of; she’d chalked that up to how philosophical he could get after smoking some fine weed he’d been able to procure, but after a month of clearing her head of the haze her life had become, she saw how right he was… And, as much as she’d loath to admit it to him, she had a few days before his birthday; earning a laugh and wet kiss on the ear for it- his aim was lousy after he’d had a few shots and a nice bowl…

Trista set out into the city early in the afternoon, wearing a plain black tee-shirt and a well-worn pair of jeans that were paint speckled from her time at her last job, one that she’d had for roughly 4 years before leaving with no notice, “Christ, this is going to suck… I’ll be lucky to get a shit job at a fast food restaurant.” After a few blocks, she pulled her hair back into a messy bun to get it off her neck and forehead; New Orleans was hot and humid in early March, even worse so than her home town. By the time she’d made it to the shop she was hoping to make a decent impression at, she was a panting mess covered in sweat; so, she stood outside for a few minutes to catch her breath in the warm, wet air and to try to air dry the perspiration from her face.   
Once she’d collected herself, she walked in through the door; but not before noticing that there was a help wanted sign in the window. There was a bell that signaled her entering the storefront, and though there was no one up front, it only took a moment for a man to come out from the back: the part that Trista knew housed the storeroom and studio she was interested in working in. The man looked her up and down, his clothes and person were speckled with paint, “May I help you, love?”  
Trista pointed to the sign in the window behind her, “Could I get an application?”  
He reached down under the counter he was standing behind and pulled out a pamphlet, placing it on the counter top between them, “You’ve worked in a place like this before?”  
Trista nodded, “I have, been doing screen printing for about 10 years now, been doing it professionally for 7. Do you have a pen? I’d like to fill this out here, if that’s alright.”  
He nodded as he looked around the cluttered space, and found a pen, handing it to Trista, “Sure thing; I’ll look it over when you’re done. Just shout when you’re finished, my name’s George.”   
Trista nodded as she looked up from the application, “Okay. I’m Trista, by the way.” George gave a small, friendly smile and headed back into the back of the store as Trista went back to filling out the application.   
Once she was done filling in all her information, she called for George and he came back to the front a few minutes later; she held the application out to him as he put on a pair of reading specs he had hanging by the collar of his shirt, so that he could look over her experience, “You have a design background as well?”  
“I didn’t finish school, but I have done some designing at previous jobs.”  
“Assistant management, too?” George looked at her, “I don’t know if I can offer you what you’re looking for.”  
“I’m looking for anything at this point. I’m new to the city, and any job is better than nothing.”  
He looked back to her application and she bit her lip, “I’m mainly looking for someone to take care of the front for me; but, my helper is always late, if he shows up at all… You’re over qualified, but I’m about to be swamped; be here at 8:30 sharp on Monday morning.”  
Trista let out a breath, “Really?”  
George nodded, “I can give you 6 an hour, probably around 35 hours a week; your duties will be split between the front and the back.” He held out his hand to her over the counter, which she took to shake, “Welcome aboard. 8:30, on the dot, Monday morning. We’ll get your paper work sorted and get you acquainted with our setup.”  
“Thank you, sir.”  
George shook his head, “I’m an old hippie, don’t call me sir, makes me feel like The Man.” Trista gave a small laugh and nodded her head, “Monday morning.”  
She nodded again, “I will be here. Thank you again.”  
George gave her a small smile as he started his way towards the back again, “I will see you here Monday then.”  
Trista walked out the front door and looked heavenward, “Maybe there is a god…” She laughed and shook her head as she started on her way back to the apartment, her mood much higher than it had been in months. She stopped in the corner store before making it home, to get some staples: bread, eggs, couple cans of soup, and a six pack of beer; she also bought a bottle of water, since she was still dehydrated from the night before, and it was miserable outside. 

Once she made it back to the apartment, it was already after 4 in the afternoon, so she opened a can of soup and set about making a grilled cheese sandwich to go along with it; she’d just flipped the sandwich when the front door flew open and Stephen stomped in with Scott coming in behind him, closing the door. Trista took one look at Stephen and knew the day had been like most of the others since they’d began work on this album; little had been done, if you didn’t count drugs… “Hey.” Stephen gave her a look, opened the fridge and grabbed one of the beers that she’d put in there, cracked it open and chugged it; Trista looked to Scott, who just shook his head in warning. Stephen finished his beer and got another one, walking to his room and closing the door, “What the fuck happened?”  
Scott turned on his heel and headed back towards the door, “Not talking about it.”  
Trista stood in the kitchen as Scott closed the door on his way out, then turned back to the stove to turn off the burners before she burnt her food, “Fuck me then, I guess…” She had just sat down at the table with her dinner when Stephen came out of his room and threw away the empty beer bottle, a joint burning from in between his lips; he sat down next to her and picked up her grilled cheese and took a bite after pulling the joint out of his mouth with his other hand, “Hey, that was mine.”  
“I’m hungry and pissed; take your chances.”  
Trista slid the bowl of soup to him and stood, “You could have at least asked first.”   
She walked back over to the stove to heat herself up something else and Stephen turned in his seat, chewing on a bit of sandwich, “I’m not trying to be a dick.”  
“You never do, you’re just a natural at it, I’m afraid.”  
“Fuck off already.” Trista laughed a bit as she buttered some bread for another grilled cheese, and Stephen took another hit of the joint, “Come get some of this.” She looked over to him, to see him holding the joint out to her, so she took a few steps and grabbed it from him and took a hit, “Sometimes I wonder about where I’d be if I’d just said fuck the band back in ’90, went to Texas and worked a job I would likely fucking hate.”  
Trista held the joint out to him, “Still pissed off and hungry, I reckon; and, you’d be in Texas, so that’d just make your misery all that much more.”  
Stephen laughed and took another hit, “Touché, my dear, touché…” He hit the joint again, “How was your day?”  
Trista flipped her grilled cheese, “This is way too domestic; we’ve talked about this, asking each other about the day is crossing a line.” Stephen blew a raspberry at her and took a slurp of soup, causing her to laugh, “I got a job.”  
“No shit?” He stood up and grabbed her into a big hug, lifting her off the floor by about an inch; after he set her back down, he sat back at the table to eat some more, “After I eat, I’m taking a shower while you eat, then we’re going out to celebrate!”  
Trista looked at him and rolled her eyes, “I’m still hung over, last thing I want to do it go out drinking all night again.”  
“I don’t give a shit what you want, we’re going out, and you’re going to damn well enjoy it! The Trista I know would never turn down a night of free drinks at some dark club with loud, shitty music. We didn’t drink all night last night, just most of it; fuck… You’ve gone soft on me, haven’t you?”  
Trista put her sandwich on a plate and poured her soup into a bowl, “Eat your fucking supper so we can go out and get shit faced again.”  
Stephen grinned broadly at her, “That’s my girl!”  
Trista smiled as she sat at the table again and began to eat, “The things I let you talk me into…”  
“You have free will.”  
Trista rolled her eyes, still smirking some, “You’re the devil, sent to temp me to do things that I’d do either way.”  
Stephen finished his soup, and gave Trista a wink as he stood up, “If that’s the case, I’m a weak ass devil; or you’re just a big-time sinner. Either way, I’m pretty sure we’re both going to Hell.”  
Stephen started walking towards the bathroom and Trista called after him, “We’ll be in good company, at least!” He just threw his head back with a laugh and closed the door so he could get cleaned up as she finished off her dinner. 

Stephen walked into the kitchen after his shower and putting on fresh clothes to see Trista was cleaning up the dishes, “Get ready, I can finish up here.”  
She turned to look at him, then went back to her cleaning, “I’m good. No reason for me to get all slutted up tonight.”  
“That’s fucking weak, T! Go, get changed and shit; I won’t listen to any lip from you.”  
Trista rolled her eyes, “I’m not in the mood for your shit, Bier.”  
“Then you better get outta here and make an effort!” Trista turned to him with her hands on her hips, “Oh, tough bitch here!”  
Trista pointed to him, “I fucking mean it, Bier.” Stephen put his hands up in a palliative manner, but once Trista relaxed her stance some, he lunged at her and put her in a loose headlock, “Goddamn it Stephen!”  
He gave her a mild noogie, “Say you’ll get changed!” She tried shoving him off her without any luck as he laughed at her futile efforts, “It’s the only way for you to get out of this!”  
Trista gave an exasperated, “Fine!” He let her go, grinning broadly at a job well done as Trista tried straitening her hair as best she could with no aide, “Christ…” She started walking towards the small laundry room, where she had most of her clothes hung up since the apartment lacked another closet, “I’ll change, but I’m still wearing jeans and a tee-shirt.”  
“You don’t have to change if you don’t want to.” Trista flipped him off as she made her way into the room, causing Stephen to laugh, “Your hair is a mess, too T! You’re gonna want to fix that, I’m sure!”  
Trista pulled off her clothes and put them in the hamper, pulling on her Sister Machine Gun tee and a pair of jeans; and yelled, “Fuck you, Bier!” She walked out and past Stephen on the way to the bathroom, scowling at him on her way by, “You are such a fucker… I’d hate you, if you weren’t actually a sweetheart.”  
Stephen covered his heart and gave a coo, “It’s good to hear not everyone fucking hates my guts.”  
Stephen stood in the door way of the bathroom as Trista brushed the snarls out of her hair, “What happened at the studio today? You seemed even more angry than usual.”  
Stephen shook his head, “Just a practice in futility… All the talking about getting work done while snorting drugs, as opposed to getting work done is really starting to get stale.” Trista unzipped her makeup bag as Stephen pulled a cigarette out of the pack he had in his pocket, “When do you start your job?”  
Trista smiled, “If I said tomorrow, would that get me out of this bad idea you’ve put in my head?”  
Stephen lit his smoke and exclaimed, “Fuck no,” as he exhaled the smoke from his lungs.  
Trista rolled her eyes as she blotted on some concealer underneath her eyes, “Of course not…” Stephen gestured for her to answer his question before he took another puff of his cigarette, “Monday. I have to be there at 8:30 in the morning.”  
Stephen walked into the bathroom and tapped his ashes into the sink, “How the fuck are you going to manage that?”  
Trista pulled her pressed powder compact out of her bag and started applying it, “You get your car back tomorrow.”  
“And?”  
She only had to look at him to know he was fucking with her, “You are a dick, sir.” He laughed as she shook her head and went about getting ready for a night out she really didn’t want, “Go smoke that somewhere else… I’ll be ready in a few minutes; this goes much faster if you’re not in here being a fucking clown.”  
Stephen clenched his tee-shirt over his heart, “You wound me, my dear!”  
Trista waved at him dismissively, “Good, go be wounded in the kitchen, where you’ll hopefully call for a cab…” He walked out of the room, cackling around his cigarette while Trista shook her head, giving an annoyed sigh before she gave a small smile, “Fucking Bier…”  
She heard the phone ring, and could hear Stephen’s side of the conversation, “Yeah…” She knew he was taking a puff of his smoke while listening to the person on the other end of the line before he answered, “We’re going to out to celebrate tonight…” There was a pause, then Stephen asked, “Where you going to be at? We can meet you where-ever…. Cool, we’ll be there in about twenty, you know how chicks are, they take forever putting on their faces.” She could hear him hang up with that and call for a cab to pick them up so that they could get to whatever bar had been decided on. After his quick call to a cab service, the phone rang again, and Stephen picked it up, slightly annoyed by this point, “What?... Oh, hold on.”  
He called for her while walking back towards the bathroom, just as she was finishing up her ‘face’ and held out the handset for her, which she took and put to her ear, “Yeah.”  
She had expected to hear the voice of one of her parents’, or possibly her brother, but she heard a voice that she knew but had never heard over the phone before, “Hey, it’s Jimmy. I was wondering if you were busy tonight.”  
She looked to Stephen, as though this was some cruel joke on his part, “I’m going out with Stephen and- “ Stephen mouthed ‘Jeordie’ for her, “Jeordie tonight.”  
Trista could hear his voice drop some, “Oh. Well, I was hoping to see you tonight…”  
She asked Stephen, “Where are we meeting the Geordster at?” Stephen scowled at her so she gave him a cold glared at him until he gave her the name of the bar, which she shared with Jimmy, “We should be there in about a half an hour; I’d love to see you again.”  
Jimmy’s tone picked up some, “That’s where my friends and I were headed. See ya then.”  
He hung up on her and she guessed it was due to some social anxiety; she looked to Stephen, “When will that cab be here to pick us up?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've had planned since I've had Happy Birthday, Pogo! planned; so, it's been in the works for a couple years now. The main focus of this fiction isn't Pogo or any other members of the band, it is more about my original characters and the building of the relationship between them; though I'm not opposed to having some side stories following Pogo (I have a couple arcs thought out, but not really developed fully).  
> Thank you to all that comment/review/kudos my work!


End file.
